Buried in the sand of ill regret,
a rifle washes free
Remembrance of a time when darkness coiled,
a snake of Russian greed
Its chambers empty, sights removed,
it could not, would not, fire
Perdition's tide reclaiming fast
—its shame into the mire
(Warsaw: March,2022)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem